“Clara,” he said. “You’re still up.”

“I was just finishing some reading,” I said.

My voice sounded steadier than I expected.

He set his briefcase down on the marble console table.

The metallic click of the latches seemed unusually loud in the quiet house.

“I thought you had a late dinner with the regional team,” I said.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

“It wrapped up early,” he said. “The client wanted to get to the airport before the rain started.”

He walked past me toward the kitchen.

I smelled the faint scent of his expensive cologne, mixed with the smell of wet wool.

I followed him at a distance.

He opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of sparkling water, and uncapped it.

“You look tired,” I said, watching his reflection in the dark kitchen window.

“It’s been a brutal week,” Ethan said, taking a long drink.

He set the bottle down on the quartz countertop.

He turned to face me, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at my face.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Why do you ask?”